everyone's a whore (we just sell different parts of ourselves)
by erisa7
Summary: ada and tommy after grace's death. one-shot.


"maybe," she starts, hesitates for a brief moment but then looks into her brother's eyes and hardens. "maybe you're just deathly afraid of something and this is how you fight it. maybe that's what it is."

he stares.

cold, unforgiving, but if she looks close enough she can see pain.

(it's a good thing - a bad thing? - that she doesn't look.)

* * *

grace dies.

blood blooms like a seasonal rose across her collarbone, down her chest and her golden dress as if it's weeping. ada is moving before her mind registers, dropping onto the floor across from tommy as he clutches grace to his body and screams for an ambulance. arthur and john are somewhere behind her, beating the gunman. polly is running. tatiana, the russian duchess whom ada knows nothing about but understands is part of tommy's business (it's always business) is standing quietly near the entryway, watching.

none of it registers.

there is only one thought: she cannot let grace die.

she cannot let tommy lose the one thing holding him together, so ada reaches over and presses her hands to grace's wound, her hands familiar with muscle memory from the few courses she took to train as a nurse. she increases the pressure even as grace inhales sharply, whimpering, and says, "grace. grace, you're alright.", which maybe is a lie, but she can't think that yet.

tommy is blabbering, which is something she never thought tommy would do, but then again his wife is bleeding out on a ballroom floor.

"grace, you can't leave me. please, please grace. please. please don't leave me, not again, i can't lose you again, it's selfish but it's true, grace, fucking please."

grace dies.

there's blood on her hands in more ways than one.

* * *

the funeral is cold, and quiet. the rain is light, but for some reason it sounds like a stampede.

there are no nostalgic stories being retold.

no old jokes shared between friends.

just cold, and somber, and a too-ornate coffin in the ground.

they walk back to arrow house after the service, and ada holds a dozing charles in her arms and remenisces wistfully about when karl was that age.

no one is speaking, really, but ada can feel polly's silent temper.

"don't," she says softly. pol turns to look at her incredulously and perhaps a little miffed.

ada soldiers on. "don't hurt him when he's like this, pol. not after all this."

polly scoffs.

"you know as well as I how men go mad for a woman," she says, immovable and gaunt. "I won't let him do it this time. not again."

polly stalks off ahead. towards the front of the path, she sees tommy lighting another cigarette absently.

you're too late, she thinks. he's already gone.

* * *

back in tom's study, they gather around his desk in a semicircle, standing like magistrates on judgement day. he sits.

pol lights a cigarette.

"you want vengeance, thomas?" she spits, harsh. "you're angry, but don't you dare fuck everything up just for that. we've made fucking rules, and a balance. don't fuck over the family for your fucking vengeance."

tommy sat at his desk, unmoving, smoking his cigarette to a stub and looking past polly, no, through polly, as though she and the rest of the family, tense in the room, had ceased to exist.

ada felt it before it happened. she'd seen tommy angry before, shouting, mostly at her brothers but sometimes at her, but she remembers the way he'd get when he was furious. remembers his rage, which he'd never been able to unleash on polly or his father because he'd been young and a child, but which she was well aware always existed.

"tom," she cautions, holding up the napping child in her arms. "charles is here."

his gaze shifts and he says, coldly, "give him to mary."

she complies, ushers mary out of the room and is about to follow in order to avoid the utter shitstorm she knows is going to go down, but tommy's voice stops her cold.

"not you, ada. come here."

ada swallows, shuts the door to the hall and turns. she's been awfully complacent towards tommy lately, but that's because she can't bear to fight him when she's witness to how broken he looks.

(she can't bear to, and for the first time in a long time, she doesn't want to)

she goes towards his seat at his desk, stands next to his chair and looks down at him.

when he speaks, deceptively soft, he says, "you're too much like our mother, ada."

she's confused, but then his gaze shifts back to pol, and he continues in that careful, quiet tone that she knows means he's ready to kill someone:

"today, i buried my wife." he stands, walks around the desk and leans against the front, facing polly and the family.

"today," he pauses. "i buried my fucking wife. and i am the head of the fucking family. and i have decided that i am going to find every last bastard that had anything to do with her fucking murder and i am going to rip their fucking eyes out."

calm, cool, collected.

carefully contained rage.

eyes passing around the room, resting on a silent pol.

"does anyone have a problem with that?"

pol stands, smokes. "tommy -"

"i said - " tommy interrupts, as if he hadn't heard her. "does anyone have a problem with that."

less of a question, more of a demanding statement. a certainty.

no one speaks.

tommy nods, breathes out. his fingers clench tightly around the corner of the desk, imperceptible if not for the fact that ada is standing so close to him, so close to his restrained fury.

"good." he says, "now get the fuck out."

ada stays frozen while the rest of the family shuffles out, pol looking murderous and john looking angry and petulant, arthur looking like he's trying desperately to find some way to fix everything. tommy looks at the ground.

it's quiet.

she turns to the side table, pours him a drink but refrains from pouring one for herself - she's been trying to get a handle on the drinking, though she knows her brothers will never let her hear the end of it if she admits so. she hands tommy the glass wordlessly, lets him take it without looking and expects nothing.

(learns to expect nothing. that way, she reasons, it hurts less.)

tommy exhales slowly, and his hand shifts minutely from where its still clenched around the corner of the desk.

he won't ask for comfort, because that's not who tommy is, because tommy thinks wanting comfort is weak and a luxury he doesn't deserve, but ada knows. she lets him fool himself by thinking she's the one who needs comfort from him and moves next to him, lifting his hand into her lap and intertwining their fingers. he doesn't look at her still.

"i meant it, ada." he speaks. "i meant it. i'll kill everyone."

maybe he means every one of the murderers, but the way he says it she thinks everyone.

 _everyone_.

"you will." she answers. "tommy, look here."

by some grace of god he actually turns and looks into her eyes, and she ignores the way her heart breaks a little.

"i'm going to stay here, alright? with charles and with you. karl will be happy. and you'll be busy, with this business. but listen: you can kill all of them. you can kill every last changretta in birmingham. but your son comes first, alright? charles is first. always."

she takes a breath. afraid.

maybe she's overstepped the bounds, crossed a line just like polly had and now he's going to hurt her and reprimand her too. but he doesn't.

instead, she sees the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and the faintest hint of amusement on his face.

"just like mum." he says, and squeezes her fingers imperceptibly.

ada wills away the tears beginning to blur her vision. leans closer, rests her head on his shoulder and clutches his hand more firmly.

(she's not looking for his pain but she finds it anyway, and maybe the tears she's fighting are finally worth it.)

* * *

the driver couldn't find most of her luggage from the cargo ship, so she's stuck at arrow house with one suitcase with enough of karl's clothes to last a week or so, but she herself is limited to two dresses and honestly, her stockings are just about torn through.

"tommy," she calls, leaning just into the doorway of his office while he's playing with charlie and karl (discretely, though, and more like watching them play, because tommy is still uncomfortable with too much affection, but if that half smile that is the only kind he gives out since the war is anything to go by, he's still enjoying himself).

"i'm going to head into london for some shopping for karl and i, alright? i'll find the driver. i just wanted to let you know."

tommy looks up at her, and the half smile fades. she wonders if she should be offended, but not for long, because she can't bring herself to muster up the energy to care.

"by yourself?" he asks. "pol or esme or someone going with you?"

ada chews on her bottom lip, wraps the beaded string of her purse around her wrist. "no. just me," she answers. "but i'll be back before dark."

his eyes see through her. she thinks maybe's he's seeing a ghost (grace's ghost), but then again, she's never been the one to believe in polly's stories from the gypsy lore - those were always legends that her brothers contented themselves to believe, but ada is a believer in facts and equality - so maybe she's a bit nonsensical too, actually.

"i don't want you to go alone," he says finally.

"the driver - "

"the driver cannot protect you!" his voice has risen to a half shout and charlie and karl look up from their train sets at him. tommy's breathing grows heavier and he rubs a hand over his face.

"tommy," she tries again, softer. "the driver's one of your blinders. there's no need to worry."

tommy shakes his head but doesn't explain.

"alright," he says, nodding to himself and standing, walking around his ornate desk to collect his coat. "alright. i'll take you."

ada starts. stares. "what?"

tommy barely looks up as he tugs the coat on. "we'll take the boys, too. a little family outing." the second half of the sentence sounds too cruel to be genuine, but then again, tommy loves his family and still thinks them a curse.

she stays silent. complacent, still. lets tommy collect karl and charlie, usher the three of them out the door and into the car. ada barely registers the way he gingerly helps her into the car, and while half of her scoffs at his (false) manners, the other half preens. perhaps she is having a positive influence, after all.

* * *

a shopboy carries their bags through the downtown. ada holds charlie in her arms, tommy takes karl's right hand. they look the picture of a wealthy, happy family.

"chocolate! mum, can we go in?" karl begs.

ada stops with him and looks past the last boutique to a quaint chocolatier's window, sees dark hazelnut bars, frosted cake, gooey chocolate fountains made of sugar crystal and toffee.

ada hums wistfully. "maybe next time, darling. it's late and your uncle tommy has work."

karl's about to protest, she can already see his face contorting into that impassioned look that freddie used to have every time he'd rant about the factory wages, and she's about to give him a quick reprimand for being disruptive, but tommy answers her son before she can even move her lips:

"well, we've time. let's see, karl. pick out something you like."

ada whips her head to face him, stares incredulously.

tommy raises a brow. smug, amused.

she makes sure to pick the most expensive caramel.

* * *

they snack on little chocolate chips as they leave the chocolatier, pile into the car with their bags and begin driving out of the city. as the children begin to doze off in the back, ada rests her chin on her hand and watches the sky darken to pitch. her eyes flicker to the right and land on tommy's face, still impassive, still complicated, but perhaps a little at peace.

"thank you for taking us out today, tom." she ventures. he doesn't turn to look at her, but she sees his eyes flicker to the other side before staring resolutely at the darkening road. "the boys enjoyed it a lot."

there's silence. she doesn't know what she expected - a drawn out, emotional outburst? perhaps a quick, curt grunt of acknowledgement - but instead, after the quiet drags on for so long it's beginning to be replaced by some ringing in her ears, tommy answers:

"and you?" he asks quietly.

ada pauses.

"yes," she says, lets her lips curve into a slight smile. "and me."

she watches tommy release a breath, and she can almost physically feel a weight leave his shoulders. she's not naive enough to think his pressures include pleasing her, but if her words somehow bring him comfort, so be it (ada's always been something of a martyr, but she never could quite understand the idea of dying for a cause other than yourself).

tommy reaches over, rests his hand against hers for a brief moment that feels eternal in the silence of the car and the dark blue of the sky. she wants to flip her hand over and intertwine their fingers, wants to force a comfort onto him if only it'd make a difference.

but ada does not believe fairytales - she believes in facts and the cold, hard truth.

so tommy pulls back his hand after a moment of eternity and ada returns her gaze to the window, lets herself wish for something more and then succumbs to the silence.


End file.
